


we woke the snow

by pearwaldorf



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Avalanches, Huddling For Warmth, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-05 09:15:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5369909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearwaldorf/pseuds/pearwaldorf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“How long will this barrier hold?” Cullen’s voice is small and frightened, something Dorian has never heard, not in Haven, the march to Skyhold, nor any of the other countless situations where a person, even a brave one, could be forgiven if they showed fear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we woke the snow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fleurdeliser](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleurdeliser/gifts), [janiejanine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/janiejanine/gifts).



> Many moons ago, Julie and Janie both requested the same prompt (keeping the other person warm) for the same pairing. Obviously it was a sign from the universe it should be a thing.
> 
> If you are curious, [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tbuk9AyEap8) is what it's like to be caught in an avalanche. (I would recommend not watching it if you're claustrophobic.)

Dorian has learned a great deal about many things since he joined the Inquisition, many of which he did not ever care to know. He can now tell you how much pressure to put on a dislocated shoulder to pop it back in its socket, which common spices will make a stew of dried meat and gathered roots edible if not exactly tasty, and what a husband sounds like when a messenger informs him that his wife will never come home again. He had made his peace with the realization that he would never fully understand the breadth of arcane knowledge in Thedas, but it was a completely different thing to be confronted with so many bits of practical information, which he always learned he should have known _before_ he needed it. 

This is how he comes to understand, in a most intimate manner, that avalanches are much more likely to occur when a fresh layer of snow settles over an existing one. 

It starts with a distant rumble. He and Cullen are assessing the trail after the snowfall, away from the main party. The noise grows louder, and then there is a white wall of snow, bearing down so swiftly he scarcely has enough time to throw up a barrier around Cullen and himself. The roar of the snow obliterates everything for a moment or an eternity, until it stops. The thump of his heart and the rasp of his breath are harsh and loud in the sudden quiet. There is another set of inhales and exhales next to him, and he conjures a witchlight to see. Cullen appears, shadows angling harshly against his features. He is unharmed, as far as Dorian can tell, and a small weight lifts from him.

“How long will this barrier hold?” Cullen’s voice is small and frightened, something Dorian has never heard, not in Haven, the march to Skyhold, nor any of the other countless situations where a person, even a brave one, could be forgiven if they showed fear.

“As long as it needs to,” Dorian says firmly. He stabilizes the connection to the Fade, making sure that there is a steady source of magic to feed the barrier. He thrusts his staff through the “roof”, hoping that it can be seen through the snow. He has no way to tell, and so he sends a silent prayer to the Maker that it can be spotted. That it will be.

“Are you hurt?” Cullen’s voice is concerned, as Dorian expects, but there is also a hint of the rote to it, the way one staves off panic with attention to mundane practicalities. He reaches out, as if he wants to check Dorian over, and stops, like he’s just remembered it would be inappropriate, excessively intimate. Dorian discovers at that moment that he would not have minded at all. 

“Not even a scratch.” Dorian smiles, glad his voice is steady. He looks around at the place they will be spending the next few hours at least. It is small, with barely enough room to stand, but enough to lay down, if need be. He sits down and crosses his legs. No point in wasting energy and air when there’s no telling when help will arrive. Cullen, on the other hand, does not feel the same way at all. He paces, or comes as close to it as he can while still ducking his head to avoid hitting the top of their enclosure. It makes Dorian uneasy and anxious, just watching. 

“Save your strength,” he says, trying to be calming. “We may be here a while.” Cullen scowls at the comment but stops walking around. 

Dorian is suddenly very tired, now that the excitement is over, and stifles a yawn. “I’m going to take a nap,” he announces. “Wake me if it looks like there’s going to be an imminent collapse.” Cullen nods, and Dorian drifts off. 

Minutes or hours later, he wakes up. The witchlight has gone out, and he magicks a new one into existence. Cullen is huddled as far away as he can be in their little hole, clammy and pale. He looks frightened--no, _terrified_ , and in a manner Dorian has never seen. When the light appears he blinks, relaxing a fraction. Dorian inches towards him, hands open, telegraphing every gesture and move. 

“Why didn’t you wake me up when the light went out?” Dorian curses himself for not tying the conjuring to the Fade, wondering how long Cullen has been sitting in the dark. 

“You were snoring.” Cullen’s tone is casual, but there’s an edge under it, a tinge of panic not quite tamped down as he supposes. 

“Preposterous. I would never do anything so common as snore.” Dorian sniffs, and Cullen’s lips twitch into a small smile. He arranges himself next to Cullen, waiting until he relaxes enough to unclench his fists, loosen his shoulders. Cullen tips his head back against the wall, making a face when it makes a mild static spark against the barrier. 

“I apologize for giving you a reason for concern, Dorian.” He looks down at his hands and breathes deep, as if he is steeling himself against something. “I told you I had been at the Ferelden Circle during the Blight. I did not tell you that I was trapped in a room for days with other members of my order. We ran out of torches and candles. In the end, I was the only one who made it out. So I hope you will forgive my discomfort of small dark spaces.” 

Impulsively, Dorian grabs one of his hands. “Thank you for telling me. You didn’t have to.” Cullen does not pull away, and in fact squeezes back. Dorian’s breath most assuredly does not catch at this, and his nerves do not thrum at the hope his long-nursed affection may be returned.

“But I _wanted_ to.” Cullen has rearranged their hands so their fingers are now slotted together. “I thought you deserved to know.” Something shifts in Dorian’s chest. It is rare, even now, that somebody takes him into their confidence. Before he can inquire further, Cullen shivers violently, and Dorian notices how very cold his hand is. Cullen had forgone his usual furred mantle and armor today, and wears only a thick shirt and pants. This may have been adequate when they were outside vigorously moving around, but certainly not now.

“Come here, you’re freezing,” Dorian says, inviting Cullen into the circle of his arm. He does not expect Cullen to wrap his arms around his waist, clinging to him like a limpet. And yet, Dorian does not mind. He channels fire (only a little though) into his hands and rubs Cullen’s arms until they are less like ice, enjoying the noises of comfort and pleasure Cullen makes at being warm once again. All that is left to make sure his hands are sufficiently heated, and Dorian takes his time, massaging Cullen’s wrists and palms.

“Better?” Dorian asks, even though he knows the answer. Cullen nods against him, limp and nearly boneless. Dorian has never seen him this relaxed, and thinks it might almost be worth the peril they’re still in, to witness Cullen loose and easy like this, smiling against his chest. Dorian brushes a few curls away (how did he not know his hair coiled like spirals naturally, it’s precious) and drops a kiss on Cullen’s forehead. All that’s left to do is make sure the witchlight stays lit, and wait for rescue. 

\--

He does not know when he fell asleep, but he wakes up to the noise of digging and Adaar’s voice yelling to at him to drop his barrier. He sees the Inquisitor and Cassandra peering into their little cave, faces alight with relief. He drops the spell and motions for them to pull Cullen out first. Adaar gives him a crushing hug after he’s on solid ground again, her eyes bright. He sees Cassandra checking Cullen for injury or frostbite, the set of her jaw the only indication of her state of mind. Finally satisfied that they are mostly unharmed, Adaar and Cassandra go off to find some hot soup and blankets, leaving them alone once again. Cullen still looks a little staggered by their ordeal, and Dorian finds himself reaching out for his hand. Cullen smiles, his face made brilliant by it. They walk over to the camp together, fingers entwined.


End file.
